You never get over it, but you get to where it doesn't bother you so much.

There was nowhere I could go that wouldn't be you.

If love were endless, if it were on tap, it wouldn't hit us the way it does. And we certainly wouldn't write about it.

They made us participate in their own madness, because we couldn't help but retrace their steps, rethink their thoughts, and see that none of them led to us.

Just like ice, lives crack, too. Personalities. Identities.

I have a lot of novels that I haven't finished. I usually get 150 pages in and I realize it's not going anywhere. I don't publish everything I write. I must have six unfinished novels at least.

Their desire was silent yet magnificent, like a thousand daisies attuning their faces toward the path of the sun.